by RJ Blain
I charged the barrier, reared, and pressed my front hooves to the glass, unsheathing my claws and tapping them on the slick surface. I turned my head and exposed my teeth, which were serrated and pointed to better tear meat into chunks I could swallow. As payback for the virgin question, I snorted flame, too. “Dee-lee-ssshh-us human.”
The front row cleared out so fast I whinnied my laughter. “Run, tay-stee humans. Run.”
To give the kid credit, he didn’t flee although his eyes widened.
Professor Yale cracked up laughing behind me. “Would you care to put your virginity to the test, Maverick?”
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
“Any other questions?”
The students kept quiet, and quite a few of them retreated to the safety of the doors in the back of the auditorium.
“That concludes today’s lesson. Dismissed.”
The place cleared out in record time, and I dropped to all fours, letting out another amused whinny. “They run fast, pro-fess-ur.”
“That they do. Did you really have to threaten to eat them? I’m going to have whiny students in my office complaining I put their precious little lives in danger.” The old man shook his head. “At least there is good news. You’re testing out as expected. Whatever gives you your immunity isn’t dependent on your immune system. A genetic marker, perhaps? Ah, a mystery for another day.”
I shook out my thick coat and gave my mane a toss. “Who knows?”
“Good question. Something to think about later. Are you ready for a trip? We’re expected elsewhere. As we had to napalm your apartment, the CDC has made arrangements for temporary housing.”
I tossed my head, widening my eyes in astonishment. “Real-ee? Why?”
“Ah, that’s right. You probably don’t remember what we told you while you were ill. We couldn’t neutralize the device with the sprays. It took two rounds of napalm to get it all. As it’s partially our fault you lost your residence, management thought it would be appropriate to make arrangements.”
Since when did a government-run organization like the CDC do anything outside of their contracts? “Im-poss-ee-bull.”
“Get used to the idea. Everyone’s very grateful you kept it in your apartment. Had your heating or air conditioning been on, we would have been dealing with a major outbreak. You did everything exactly right. You neutralized the airborne particles, you did your best to contain the source of contagion, and you kept everyone out of the affected zone. It’s not often I get to tell anyone this, but well done.”
“Thank you.” I meant it, too. For Professor Yale, there was no higher praise. When I added his compliment to the fact the CDC was helping me beyond the normal protocols, I was a very happy woman. Unicorn. Whatever.
While the CDC would have brought in a truck and trailer for me, I decided to hoof it across the city, tailing Professor Yale’s little yellow sedan. If I reversed back to human, I’d be better off on the street with him to supervise than in the back of a trailer alone, bouncing around in a bed of flax.
Nothing hurt quite as much as having to pick out hay or flax after transforming, and it often involved a very patient nurse, a pair of tweezers, and a scalpel. I’d much rather gallop ten, twenty, or thirty miles—or more. I’d run my furry ass all the way to the Hamptons to avoid it.
Unfortunately, Professor Yale didn’t feel it was necessary to inform me of our destination except to tell me it wasn’t in Manhattan. Once we were on the road, I was far too busy dodging cars and pedestrians to care. Within five minutes of leaving the CDC’s headquarters, a taxi cut me off, forced me onto the sidewalk among a bunch of annoyed and startled New Yorkers, and blared his horn.
If the cabbie wanted to play, I’d play. I snorted flame at his bumper and gave chase. I caught him staring at me in wide-eyed horror in his rearview mirror as I twisted my way around and jumped over a few cars in my effort to teach him why he should never piss off a fire-breathing unicorn.
I pursued him for two blocks before scorching his bumper, turning tail, and trotting my way back to Professor Yale’s car, sending gouts of flame at anyone who had a problem with me going the wrong way in traffic. If the cabbie hadn’t tried to run me over, I wouldn’t have needed to show him the reality of challenging black and red unicorns.
Professor Yale rolled down his window and stuck his head out of his car. “Don’t make me cork your horn, Bailey.”
“No touch. Burn.” Mmm. Fire. “Fire?”
The first hints of fall encroached on summer’s heat, and despite my thick coat, the lower temperature bothered me when I breathed. I wanted to find somewhere nice and warm to curl up and nap. At least running would keep me warm, assuming no other idiot cabbies tried to run me over.
The old man sighed. “It’s getting too chilly for you, isn’t it?”
“I’ll man-age. Little cold.” Since he seemed in the mood to talk while driving, I trotted alongside his car and shot glares—and fire—at anyone who dared to complain we took up an entire lane. I even kept right on the line.
If a cop pulled me over, I’d eat him. On second thought, I decided eating one of Chief Quinn’s officers wouldn’t go over well, so I’d settle with a nibble instead.
“You really are a one-track mind when you’re a unicorn. Yes, Bailey. There’s a fireplace where we’re going, and I was very clear in my instructions there needs to be a fire waiting for you when we arrive. As if I’d forget something that basic.”
I snorted, and trails of smoke rose from my nostrils. “Far?”
“Not too far, no. Thirty minutes if traffic doesn’t get too bad.”
“Where?”
“Just to College Point. Might even make it in twenty if we’re lucky.”
I flattened my ears. “Queens?” I struggled with the word, my thick equine tongue unwilling to cooperate. “Coll-eeg Point in Queens?”
“Yes, in Queens. You’ve lived there for how long? You should know where we’re going. Pay attention to where you’re trotting.”
The nice thing about being stuck as a unicorn was the wide assortment of natural weapons at my disposal. The instant we stopped at a light, I shoved my nose into his car and gave him a good look at my teeth. “You try dodg-ing cars.”
“I know, I know. I can’t help that the cabbies are idiots on even the best of the days and don’t like sharing the road with others.”
I stomped my hooves to keep warm while waiting for the light to change. In my impatience, I unsheathed my claws and dug them into the asphalt. “Burn them!”
“No, Bailey. You can’t burn the cabbies.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t eat them, either.”
“Ab-so-loot-lee no fun, Pro-fess-ur Yale.”
“Don’t kill the cabbies, Gardener. Don’t vandalize their cars, either. And for the love of God, please do not attack any police horses should we meet one on the way. The last thing I need is to have to explain to Chief Quinn why you went after one of his mounted officers again.”
I pulled my head out of Professor Yale’s car and snorted, grateful the light had changed to green so I wouldn’t have to continue the discussion. It wasn’t my fault the NYPD had decided to have a stallion on the force, and it certainly wasn’t my fault I had refused to lose my virginity to some damned horse. One day I would decide to overcome my social ineptitude long enough to find a man—a human man—willing to sleep with me.
Stupid whore horses.
Whatever happened, I couldn’t let Chief Samuel Quinn figure out I was a virgin who only knew the finer points of sexuality thanks to the internet, too much time spent in a bar, and having a faery for a boss.
“He start it. I fin-ish it. Bad whore. Horse. Bad horse.”
Professor Yale laughed. “Whore, horse. Pretty much the same thing when it comes to a stallion. I’ll give you some credit. You didn’t kill the horse and eat him.”
“Should have.”
“Next time, just gallop away. You’re faster.”
“I’m sure it did.”
“Yes, did.”
Another red light halted traffic, and thanks to a bunch of clueless tourists, we ended up waiting two cycles. I sighed at the delay. “We go to an a-part-ment?”
“No, I’m taking you to a proper house. I picked it with your special needs in mind. The owner has a fireplace, a sizable fenced backyard, and everything you need on hand. I even found time to hunt down a fur rug for you.”
I pricked my ears forward. The first mistake the CDC had made when I had transformed for the first time involved where I’d sleep. Straw made for terrible bedding for a tired, cranky unicorn capable of lighting things on fire. While flax was better, it still made me sneeze like straw did, and when I sneezed, things had a tendency to burn.
I really hadn’t liked the sprinkler system, and I’d spent the rest of my first transformation shivering in a miserable, wet, furry ball until the CDC figured out I needed to be kept somewhere toasty warm to minimize the risk to me and everything around me.
Manners mattered, and determined not to alienate one of the few people who seemed to care enough to go out of his way to help me, I said, “Thank you.”
“This polite version of you is really starting to creep me out. Stop it. You’re welcome.”
I decided to shut my mouth before it got me into trouble. Once we reached the outskirts of Queens, traffic lightened enough that I needed to put in real effort to keep pace with Professor Yale. By the time he pulled into a driveway behind an NYPD cruiser, lather dampened my coat, and I blew air in order to catch my breath.
In the garage, I spotted a sickeningly familiar red sports car.
Wait. A police cruiser? Red convertible parked in the garage? Nice house? White picket fence, good part of Queens?
“Oh hell no.” In case Professor Yale wasn’t sure how I felt about the situation, I squealed my dismay. While I’d never been to his house, there was only one cop I knew who had a convertible, lived in Queens, and took a cruiser home with him whenever he felt like it: Chief Quinn.
My heaven and hell bundled in one smoking hot package opened the front door, looked at me, and grinned. “Does this mean I get to go for a ride, Yale?”
I gulped. Panic coursed through me, and I wondered how far I’d get before I collapsed in an exhausted heap somewhere. Why was I at Chief Quinn’s house? Had Professor Yale coerced the man?
Wait. Chief Quinn wanted to know if he could what?
I whipped my head around to stare at Professor Yale. “Big fire?”
I could make a really, really big fire, and while everyone dealt with putting out the flames, I could make it to the next state, no problem. Houses burned nicely. So did trees. I bet I could make the grass ignite, too. And the bushes. And the cars, all three of them. Chief Quinn had helped the CDC torch my place, so turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it?
“No, Bailey. Good afternoon, Chief Quinn.” Professor Yale stayed in his car, leaning out his open window to wave at the police chief. “Thanks for hosting. She’ll be less grumpy after she’s been fed and put near a fire. Remember, if the temp gets below eighty for too long, she might try to hibernate, so watch out for that. Drop the temp to seventy at night and bank the coals. In the morning, stoke the fire as hot as you can, put meat in easy reach, and give her about an hour to wake up. When you take her out of the house, don’t forget the blanket and the cork.”
Chuckling, Chief Quinn leaned against the doorframe. “I remember from the ten other times you explained it. I even have all the brushes you suggested. Come on in, Gardener. You’re stuck with me until you reverse back to human at the earliest. Isn’t it your lucky day?”
Was the man insane? Had he hit his head on something? Why the hell did he sound so cheerful? I unsheathed my claws and dug them into the asphalt, flattened my ears, and glared at Professor Yale.
The old man ignored me. “Call me if there are any issues, Chief Quinn.”
“Will do. Thanks for bringing her over.”
“All right, Gardener. Move your ass so I can get back to work.”
I snorted but sheathed my claws and stepped to the side so he could back out of the driveway, leaving me alone in front of the brick house with its pristine picket fence, immaculate lawn, and roses in full bloom lining the walkway.
The man who hated me for ruining his marriage had invited me into his home. Me, a fire-breathing unicorn requiring a manual to keep healthy. By tomorrow, if I didn’t reverse back to human, I would leave tufts of black and red fur everywhere. I would need someone to help brush out my coat so I wouldn’t mat. I would cost him a fortune in firewood and meat.
Even knowing that, he had still invited me in.
“Sor-ree for the truh-bull.”
“Come on in, Bailey. It’s really no trouble. The competition to host you was fierce, as Perkins and half the station offered their places, but since I was the only one of the lot with a suitable fireplace, I won by default.” Chief Quinn stepped into his house and left the door open behind him.
I gaped. Perky had volunteered to host me, too? Who else at the station would actually want to help care for someone as problematic as me, let alone half of them? Impossible. Absolutely impossible.
Aware of Chief Quinn’s curious neighbors emerging from their homes to stare at me, I shuffled my way down his driveway to the walkway. The sweet scent of roses got the better of me, and I paused to nibble on a bloom.
“Are you eating my roses?” Chief Quinn blurted.
Oops. I flicked an ear, swallowed the evidence, and feigned innocence. I made it a few more steps before a large red bloom caught my eye. I eyed it, glanced at Chief Quinn, and debated if I could get away with just one more.
“Professor Yale didn’t tell me you had a taste for roses. Had I known, I would have bought a bouquet so you wouldn’t eat my bushes.”
Yep, Chief Quinn liked his roses. What could one more hurt? He had so many of them. It took far more restraint than I liked to leave the big flower alone. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if I took a nap on his sidewalk for a while. The run from Manhattan hadn’t done me any good. I turned my ears back and swished my tail, annoyed over my aching muscles. My time in the hospital hadn’t helped at all, either. When I reached the four steps leading up to the small porch and the front door, I glared at them.
As a unicorn, steps were my archenemies; as often as not, I tripped over my own hooves if I tried to take them any faster than my slowest walk. I lifted my head so I could get a good look into his home. The entry way provided plenty of space with a side table shunted against the white-painted walls as my only obstacle.
Fortunately for me, no one really knew a whole lot about unicorns, especially my species, so when I did something weird, everyone figured it was a part of my new body and the result of transformation.
Wrong.
Unicorns, at least of my breed, normally couldn’t teleport, nor could they hitch a lift on the beams of sunlight streaming into Chief Quinn’s home. I was different. I had no idea how it worked, but when I had four hooves instead of two feet, a little concentration, a clear path, and some light equalled a fast way to skip the stairs.
When I materialized in front of him, Chief Quinn yelped. “He didn’t tell me you could do that!”
I bobbed my head and whinnied, careful to avoid stabbing or slicing anything with my horn. Why did a unicorn’s tongue make speaking English such a challenge? “Nice house. Tay-stee roses.”
In his preparations to invite me into his home, I suspected Chief Quinn had rearranged his furniture to make room for me. The entry opened to a sitting room with a pair of couch
es, an armchair, and a coffee table pushed out of the way. In front of a fireplace was a large, black furry rug. Flames crackled in the hearth, and I pricked my ears forward. “Fire!”
“All yours, Bailey. Have fun, just please don’t burn my house down, no matter how much I might deserve it.”
I angled my head so I could watch him with an eye. “Not your fall-tuh—fault—McGee use a bomb with dust. Nay-palm need-ed, Chee-fuh.” I struggled to force out his last name but mangled it.
“Just call me Sam. If you try to say my full name in front of the other cops, they might die of laughter. I wasn’t kidding about you being stuck with me, either. You’ll be coming to work with me. Professor Yale was very clear about that: you won’t be left unattended. If you get sick for any reason, we’re hauling you back to the hospital.”
Chief Quinn wanted me to call him Sam? I cocked an ear back, not sure what I thought about that. When I was honest with myself, I liked the way his last name rolled off my tongue. Come hell or high water, I’d get his name right. Maybe I’d drop the chief, but I’d reserve Sam for something truly important. “I like Quinn.”
His name came out closer to queen than Quinn, but it’d do until I found some private time to practice. The last thing I needed was someone catching me while muttering his name. They’d believe I had lowered myself to stalking the police chief.
“I see. Is there anything I can get for you?”
I shook my head.
“Okay. Just shout if there is. I’ll be in my office down the hall if you need me.” He flicked me a salute and walked away, and I admired the view.
Then I remembered manners were a good thing. “Thank you, Quinn.” There. Not Chief Quinn, just Quinn. That was the closest to intimacy I dared to get with a man far too sexy for his own good—or for mine.
Chapter Six
My first order of business involved stuffing my head into the fireplace so I could bask in the flames crackling around my nose and washing over my brow. It took a bit of work to jam my horn up the chimney without damaging anything, but after a few minutes, I was positioned to relax and enjoy the heat. My neck was just long enough I could lie down on the rug without having to rest much of my weight on the hearth’s stones.